When the Student is Ready
by Haibanashi
Summary: ... then the pseudo-teacher will find them annoying. Jeremy only survives his time as the night guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria thanks to the sarcastic phone messages that are left for him. Determined to find the person who worked before him and gave him the help he needed, he seeks out whoever recorded the messages. Mike is unamused. Some liberties taken with canon timeline.
1. The Intro

**A/N: Thanks for clicking and reading!**

**I got into the Freddy Fazbear craze a few weeks ago and I had to write something.**

**Okay, I came up with this idea _before_ I knew about the fifth night and I still thought that FNAF 2 was a sequel. So I'm taking a few liberties with the canon. Trust me, I love the idea of FNAF 2 being a prequel. But this is fanfiction. So I'm taking it in a different direction.**

**Firstly, this takes place a few years after the first game. I'm making it a sequel, not a prequel. Basically everything before the sixth night and the date on the check is canon.**

**Secondly, I'm changing all of the phone calls and having it be Mike that leaves the messages. Because I love Mike's sarcasm and the storyline depends on it. That's why I have Phone Guy listed as a character. But he's not here. Only Mike.**

**More things will probably pop up along the way. I'll put them down as they come.**

**Disclaimer: Haibanashi does not own Five Night's at Freddy's or any of its characters (that would be Scott Cawthon). Haibanashi makes no profit off of this story.**

**Warnings: There is quite a bit of swearing/cursing. Also some gore.**

**Let's go!**

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><p>Jeremy didn't know how or why. He just was.<p>

"Shit shit shit!" He screeched (very manly-like, mind you) as he spotted the older, mangled version of Bonnie creeping through the vents on the camera. He immediately switched to camera eleven, cranked up the music box, checked for the older Foxy in the main hall with his flashlight (he wasn't there, thank god), and crammed on the Freddy Fazbear head.

He didn't move a muscle.

_What was the time what was the time? _Jeremy's mind repeated the mantra like a broken record, his breath resonating in the hallowed costume and hands growing clammy. Everything was such utter chaos that he hardly had an opportunity to look; the last time he had checked the clock it had read out 3 am. He had no way to check the time inside the head but he'd be damned if he took it off now.

The lights flickered. He could see Bonnie through the empty eye slots. He stopped breathing as his heart rate skyrocketed.

The lights finally cut off before slowly shining back to life. Jeremy waited a few more seconds before pulling off the head.

He frantically checked the air vents and the hallway with the lights. Finding nothing, he started to scroll through the camera feed.

The Mangle had left Kid's Cove and Balloon Boy couldn't be found in his usual place.

"Fuck me," Jeremy hissed. Why had he taken up this goddamn job in the first place? Oh, right, he wanted to get a job over spring break so he could feel like a responsible and independent adult and it sounded so fun to work at a place made to entertain children.

This. This was not anywhere near _fun_. Blind terror was far more accurate.

"_They don't ever tell you these things in the job descriptions, the assholes."_ Jeremy found himself agreeing with part of the first recording for the umpteenth time since he had been on duty.

He switched over to wind up the music box again, spotting The Mangle hanging from the ceiling in the Prize Room. Why couldn't they just play a radio or _something_? He had seen pictures of the Marionette and he did not want to know what that creepy looking thing would do to him if it started to come after him.

"How the fuck is this a place for kids?" Jeremy forced the words through gritted teeth. He had some time before The Mangle showed up, so all he had to do was find —

"Hi."

Well, that solved that problem.

Jeremy smashed his hand on the light for the left air vent. Nothing. Okay, Balloon Boy was still in the vent. He still had time. He still had time.

He reached for the flashlight and checked the main hallway. Glowing yellow eyes stared back.

"Foxy you can go die," Jeremy snarled as he flashed the light. If it weren't for Foxy and the Marionette he could have just sat there in the mask and been just fine. But no, Foxy had to be glitchy and the Marionette… Jeremy had no idea what was wrong with it and he didn't want to know.

Once he couldn't see anything in the hall, Jeremy checked the lights again. Nothing on the right side. And on the left —

It was Balloon Boy.

Jeremy shoved the head back on.

All he had to do was wait. It would go away. Eventually.

Wait, was the music box wound up enough? Had Foxy come back? Shit, he was so screwed. He was dead. Totally —

_Ding dong. Ding dong._

"Fucking yes!" Jeremy screamed. Six in the morning. He was safe. "Thank god!"

He pried off the stuffy mask and placed it on the desk in front of him. Night three was over. _Finally_.

Jeremy groaned before slumping down and placing his head on the desk. Night one had been scary because seriously? Who the hell wouldn't be ready to shit their pants when they were told that creepy robots were out for their blood? And night two had gotten harder, the dismembered animatronics making their presence known. And then Balloon Boy, who Jeremy hadn't even realized was a robot too, had shown up in the vents and wouldn't _go away_.

Night three had felt like a nightmare. Everyone was moving around and Jeremy couldn't stop moving for even one second or else he'd miss something. And missing anything would be bad.

On shaky legs, Jeremy stood up from the seat and started to walk towards the exit of the restaurant. He probably would have been dead by now if it weren't for the messages left on the recorder. Most of them were spoken in a flippant and sarcastic tone, criticizing the management and telling him not to be stupid. But he (and Jeremy was assuming whoever left them were a guy based on the voice) would always be sure to say what to watch out for and ways to not get killed. And Jeremy thanked any deity that was listening that Phone Guy (it catchy in his head, alright?) was awesome enough to give advice.

Jeremy reached the front doors and pushed one of them open. The sun was peeking over the horizon, people only just starting to get ready for the day ahead. He didn't know why he kept coming back to this hellhole, really. Maybe it was some twisted sense of pride that refused to let him back down. Maybe it was the knowledge that if he left, someone new who wouldn't know what to do would have to fill his place. Maybe it was because he didn't want to try to explain to his parents why he had quit before the five nights were up. Whatever it was, Jeremy sincerely hoped Phone Guy would prep him for it.

"_Just flash your light at Foxy if he shows up in the hall. I don't know if the brightness disorients him or if he just wants to have a small rave party, but he'll go away if you do."_

Jeremy quirked a small smile as he remembered the advice from night two as he walked through the awakening world. The humor was an odd mix of morbid and mockery that always gave the night guard nervous chuckles. It really shouldn't have been as amusing as it was.

"_If you didn't notice the older versions in the Parts Room last night, you may as well just strut out of the office right now because you won't survive if you don't keep tabs on everything. Management says that they're completely deactivated since they're only used for spare parts. It's complete bullshit. They'll start to come after you along with everything else. If you see them, put on the mask _immediately _or you're just as likely to live as you would be if you hadn't noticed them in the first place."_

"_Keep the music box on cam eleven wound up as often as you can. Yeah, it may seem stupid to you to crank it but you don't want the Marionette coming out for you because it can't listen to its shitty music. Unless you have a death wish. Not winding it up would be the same as suicide. Not really the best way to go in my opinion, though."_

"_So, it's your first night? Welp, I should probably tell you that the animatronics are going to try to kill you. You think I'm joking? Then completely disregard this message. But trust me, I don't think that the janitors will appreciate having to clean up the gore left in the 'empty' Freddy suit. Blood is a pain to clean out of the floors."_

Jeremy would admit that the introductory message had chilled him a little with its casually delivered morbidity, but it had brought about the desired effect; Jeremy had listen to the recording all the way through and taken the advice to heart. Especially when the current version of Bonnie had shown up in the party room holding a guitar.

Jeremy padded up the driveway of his house and then onto the path that led up to the front door. Yawning, he pulled out a silver key and slid it into the lock and turned it. He swung the door open once he heard the click and yanked the key out, closing and locking it behind him.

"Hey there Jeremy," the teen's dad greeted him with a smile. "I was just heading out. How was work?"

"Oh, the usual," Jeremy grumbled, leaving out the whole animatronics were trying to kill him part. "I'm tired."

"Then get some sleep, sport. I'll be back a bit late tonight. A few interns are coming in to get some first hand experience on being a doctor."

"'kay," Jeremy mumbled as he began to all but stumble up the stairs. There were all sorts of horror stories about the work load of the medical field but nothing would ever touch his job, that much Jeremy was sure of.

At last, the teen reached his room and plopped onto his bed, lacking any semblance of grace whatsoever. Unsurprisingly, staying up the entire night and panicking at every moment was quite draining on people.

Jeremy succumbed to the dark world of unconsciousness, too exhausted for even the faintest of nightmares and dreams to haunt his sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, first thing's first. I'll be talking about Jeremy's characterization. A friend of mine and myself have spent way too much time on this.**

**Jeremy is a critical thinker but only when he wants to be. Reasoning being that if you have any hopes of not dying, you need to be able to pick up patterns. But unlike the first game, FNAF 2 has more of a sense of predictability. Yes, everything is happening at once but the animatronics keep to the same paths and strategies. In the first game, you constantly need to look out because the bots are constantly changing their patterns to screw you over. So yes, Jeremy needs to be a critical thinker but not at all times.**

**Jeremy has to have ridiculously good reflexes. If you don't get that mask on the moment you see something in the room you're dead. That's that. Because of this and the recognition of patterns required, we agreed that Jeremy would probably be on some type of sports team. For whatever reason, we thought football.**

**Going on the reflex part, we thought Jeremy would be a little… spastic. Maybe ADHD or fidgety are better words for it. **

**And we both thought Jeremy would be less cynical than Mike. This is partly because we didn't want a clone of Mike and partly because of the earlier football player stereotype and spastics. So we pictured him to be a bit kinder. Not your typical golden boy or anything, but almost approaching it. And along with the ADHD came a possible happy-go-lucky nature. But that'd probably be a bit dulled down seeing as he wouldn't last with an attitude of pure optimism.**

**Like I said up top, I came up with this story idea before I knew that the second game was a prequel, not a sequel. So when we saw that the check was only for $100.50, we immediately concluded that Jeremy was probably doing this for the experience of getting a job, a desire that a lot of teens seem to have (because of this, we assumed he still lived at home, probably seventeen years old). Plus, with the morbid history of the place, I doubt anyone would work there for such low pay. Accordingly, we decided that Jeremy was probably from a high middle class family. And further on, we decided that it worked because Jeremy wouldn't have the concept of needing to conserve power. So yeah, he's not poor.**

**Due to all of these things, we thought Jeremy would be a bit broader and taller than make. And for whatever reason we both thought he had blond hair. Don't know why.**

**Anyway, I just wanted to get this out there before the fandom came up with a widely accepted canon, thus making mine irrelevant.**

**This is short, but the next chapter will be longer.**

**Please review, follow, and favorite!**

**EDIT: Just corrected a few typos.**


	2. The Meeting

**A/N: And chapter two is up!**

**I don't think that I've ever gotten an update up this quickly before. But I've had this idea and I do love it so so I had to write it immediately.**

**And oh my god; this got a lot more feedback than I thought it would. You're all too kind. Thank you for following, favoriting, and reviewing.**

**I have literally just finished writing this so I might make a few changes. I feel parts of it are really rushed.**

**Disclaimer: Haibanashi does not own Five Night's at Freddy's or any of its characters (that would be Scott Cawthon). Haibanashi makes no profit off of this story.**

**Warnings: There is quite a bit of swearing/cursing. Also some gore but not so much in this chapter.**

**Let's go!**

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><p>Jeremy hummed slightly into warm duvet blankets. He was in that blissful place between sleep and full consciousness; he was aware of the world around him but had no desire to react or do anything about it. It was a nice calm compared to…<p>

Nope, he wasn't even going to go there.

Jeremy groaned. Great, even now those stupid animatronics were bothering him. And his sleep no less. How dare they!

"Fuck it," Jeremy blearily blinked open closed eyes to look at the clock in his room. One in the afternoon. Seven hours of sleep before those stupid heaps of scrap metal had started to creep up on his mind. He could live with that.

Not really wanting to but knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable, Jeremy rolled on his mattress until he flopped down onto the floor. Finally, he picked himself up from the carpet and stretched. At least he had gotten a good night's sleep. After the first two days he had just stayed up petrified in the dim light. All of his friends were going to make fun of him if he ever got a nightlight.

Yawning through his hand, Jeremy trudged out of his room and began the slow descent down the stairs to reach the first floor. He navigated his way through the house (totally not tripping over the laundry basket that was on the floor. Obviously) until he stumbled into the kitchen. Blindly grabbing inside of the cupboards, he grasped a random box of cereal and poured it and milk into a bowl. He soon found a spoon and took a bite. Only to spit it back out again.

"Why the hell did I get bran?" Jeremy murmured. It was too early in the morning for this. Or too early in the afternoon. Whatever. He was too tired to care.

Dumping the cereal down the drain of the sink, Jeremy actually located the cereal he wanted before he taking it out and pouring a new bowl. Hopefully his mom wouldn't notice that more milk was missing than normal.

He plunked down into the wooden chair at the oak table in the kitchen and dutifully spooned his breakfast (read: pure sugar) into his mouth. After eating to keep his hunger at bay, Jeremy rubbed his hands against his temples his elbows resting against cold wood. He had eleven hours until he had to be back for another night from hell and he wasn't going to waste that time. So he started to spend it the best way that he possibly could.

By surfing tumblr on his laptop for a good three hours.

Once he had discovered all of the best memes and successfully both laughed his ass off and disturbed himself by the posts, he signed off and walked into what his family referred to as "the office." It was the room that all of the "educational" books and computers and general electronics were kept in and where his parents would shut themselves inside of when they worked through the night. Maybe study was a more appropriate name, but it didn't quite fit the overall functionality.

He grabbed his phone off of the charging block and illuminated the screen to check for anything. His parents, unsurprisingly, hadn't texted him seeing as they were both almost always hung up with work. But despite their busy schedules, they still made time for 'family bonding' experiences, most of which Jeremy didn't mind.

He did have a few messages on his phone, though. One from his football coach reminding the team no to get out of shape over the break, a few of his teammates just spamming the group chat, and four from his girlfriend, Kayla.

**[Kayla]**

**Hey, wanna grab a movie later today?**

**[Received 12:01 pm]**

**[Kayla]**

**R u going to respond?**

**[Received 12:37 pm]**

**[Kayla]**

**Okay, nvm then. I'll go with some1 else.**

**[Received 12:52 pm]**

**[Kayla]**

**You haven't answered anything since Monday. I'm getting a little worried about u.**

**[Received 1:03 pm]**

Jeremy sighed through his nose. Yeah, he probably hadn't been the best boyfriend since he took up the job, but who could blame him? The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his time on the night watch and answer every question that was thrown at him about it. And he was way too paranoid for his own good. He'd probably look like a lunatic if he tried to interact with someone, especially if something about the goddamn bots came up.

So he was on social shutdown mode until he finished his fifth night, got his paycheck, and got the hell out of there. If he had known what he was going to be put through, he would have asked for more than a measly one hundred bucks. Hell, a full six-figure salary wouldn't have been good enough for the torment that he went through every night.

Jeremy reluctantly glanced at the clock on his phone. Around four thirty. Well that was just _swell_. Pretty soon he'd have the wonderful pleasure of going back and spazzing out for his life. What joy.

… those phone calls were affecting him now. Jeremy failed at anything involving sarcasm of any kind. Not that the ability to be sarcastic was a bad thing. Jeremy just couldn't really do it effectively —

And now he was rambling internally. Great (oh look more sarcasm).

Jeremy slumped his shoulders and groaned. This job was messing with him way too much. Even his personality was being completely altered (not really, but he needed to be melodramatic right now).

Hungry again, Jeremy walked back into the kitchen and swung the stainless steel fridge door open. What was he supposed to eat at five in the afternoon? Lunch or dinner? Not that it mattered. But he wanted to know.

Finally deciding to go the cliché teenager route, he grabbed some pizza and started munching on the cold slices as he leaned against the granite counter framing the walls of the kitchen. Sure, it tasted better warm but Jeremy couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

Actually didn't Freddy's serve pizza?

Jeremy stopped mid chew. When his parents would later ask him why the near entirety of the leftover pizza was in the trash, he would tell them that it was horrifyingly bad.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Jeremy stared forebodingly up at the building before him. He checked him phone for the time. Eleven forty-nine.

Damn. He wasn't going to get out of this, was he?

Jeremy gave one last longing look to the world behind him before stepping through the doors and sealing his fate until the clock struck six.

Jeremy shuffled through the hallways towards the office he was to take residence in, glaring at the checkered floors and kids' crayon drawings of the "fun" characters in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. If they knew what the place was like at night… well, Jeremy doubted that the restaurant would have stayed open for three seconds afterwards.

He paused in front of the archway that connected his office to the main hall. The custodial staff had cleared out like they always did by ten o'clock; no one wanted to be trapped inside after dark.

Heaving a sigh, Jeremy took a seat in his swivel chair (which he may or may not have rolled around on before the messages on the first night) and made sure that the Freddy head was well within reach.

He could hear the slight, rumbling hum and soft clicks reverberate throughout the building as everything powered down and locked itself for the night.

Jeremy glanced at the clock. Midnight.

Now all he had to do was survive.

Jeremy immediately checked the Parts Room. No movement yet. Last night Bonnie hadn't even been there when he checked and that had thrown him into a nervous sweat. He flipped over to the newer animatronics and then Balloon Boy. Still nothing, thank god. If they all just decided to stay there and not move it would be a great night. But that was probably asking for too much.

Jeremy went onto camera eleven and proceeded to crank the music box. Once he couldn't wind it up any further, he pulled away from the monitors and checked the lights for the air vents. Okay, everything was going fine. He pulled out the flashlight and checked the main hall and —

"How the fuck did you get there so quickly?" Jeremy screeched as he saw Foxy's outline and the old Bonnie standing a few feet behind. He proceeded to flicker the light in a way that would have been comedic if he weren't so terrified.

_Ring. Ring._

Jeremy's ears perked as he heard the recorder. Advice would be great right now. Like, really great.

"_You're still here, huh?" _Jeremy heard the familiar voice tinged with static play. _"I don't whether or not to commend you for your bravery or hit you over the head and call you a nutcase. But since that doesn't really matter all too much, let's just get you through tonight. Check while I'm talking. Chances are that the animatronics will already be moving right now, if not right outside your doors."_

Foxy was gone. Bonnie was getting closer. Jeremy checked the lights again. Nothing in the air vents. Yet.

"_Things are going to be very hectic tonight. I advise turning up as much of the music box in one go as you can; spastic intervals will have you constantly switching back and forth which is more likely to get you killed. And here's a tip you might find helpful: put on the mask as soon as you get your face out of the cameras. The older bots can't pick up your face if you have something in front of it. If you put the mask on the moment you get out… well, half of a second can make all the difference."_

Jeremy checked the lights again. Bonnie was closer and Foxy was back. The mask thing sounded like a good idea. He really should have thought of that beforehand. But hey, Phone Guy was just awesome.

"_So yeah. You've gotten through three nights already. What's a fourth? Just try not to die and make sure you know where everything is. Good luck."_

_Click._

Jeremy checked the air vents again as the message ended, cracking a small smile at the last few parting words. "Try not to die"? Those words weren't allowed to be spoken in the same tone as telling a child not to eat too much candy. He flashed his light in the hall again. Foxy had run off again and Bonnie was still in the same position. Jeremy pulled up the cameras and went straight to the Prize Room. Mangle was there, spindly black limbs (?) grasping the ceiling and jaws agape. As Jeremy cranked the goddamn music box up, he idly reflected that Spider Fox would probably be a fitting name. But Mangle described the wretched thing perfectly and the feeling that came with the word was spot on so Jeremy dismissed the idea of recommending a name change to management.

He paused and reached out until he was sure that he had the mask firm in hand. With speed that his teammates would be jealous of, he slammed the camera screen down and shoved on the head. And thank god he did because the dismantled Chica was standing right in front of him and _how the fuck did he not hear or notice it?_

Jeremy bit his tongue to stop the string of curses that wanted to fly from his mouth. _This just isn't fair,_ he thought as the lights started to flicker before cutting off then slowly dimming back on. He took off the mask and checked the hallway again. Bonnie was gone but Foxy had decided to make yet another appearance and Mangle was dangling in front of the arch.

"No," Jeremy whined. He checked the vents. Newer doll Bonnie was there.

Fuck.

Jeremy flashed the lights as many times as he dared, sneaking a glance at the time. Two twenty. How was it only two?!

When Foxy's outline could no longer be spotted, Jeremy shoved the mask back on. And not three seconds later did Bonnie float past him in full glory with his freaky smile and bulging eyes. Once the lights had returned back to normal, Jeremy checked the hall and the vents again. Mangle was still there but the vents were clear and what was that beeping noise — ?

"Shit," Jeremy yanked up the screen again. The music box was out. No. _No._

Jeremy cranked the fucking thing up until he couldn't anymore. The alarm had stopped and it had only been a yellow-ish orange but the fact that he was losing track of everything was _bad_.

He put the camera down again and stuffed his head into the head (that sounded a lot weirder than it had in his mind…). Nothing in the room, okay that —

_Clink._

Jeremy glanced up. Mangle was in the room.

Oh fuck him. This hadn't happened before. Would Mangle go away? God, he hoped so. Because if Foxy came back or the music box ran out again —

No. He was going to give himself a panic attack if he kept thinking like that. Mangle would most likely leave just like Bonnie and Chica and Freddy and whatever the hell else. He just had to wait.

And sure enough, the lights flickered out before coming back to life. Jeremy looked upwards again. Mangle was gone. Still, he waited a few more moments before pulling off the head. He wasn't taking any chances.

Jeremy continued through the night in a similar fashion; check vents, check hall, crank music box, mask, and repeat (and flip the fuck out when he saw something). There had been a few close calls with both the new and old Freddy and the older versions of Bonnie and Chica. But the shit hadn't quite hit the fan yet.

And then Balloon Boy, Foxy, and the current Bonnie decided to triple team him.

"I hope you all burn in the deepest pit of hell," Jeremy hissed. If he wouldn't have been put in prison or a mental asylum for it, he'd probably bring a shotgun and pump the hellions full of bullets. But with his luck they wouldn't do shit.

He flashed the flashlight at Foxy and hoped that the damn thing would leave him alone. And even though Foxy was annoying and as terrible as all get out, he was still towards the end of the hallway so it wasn't anything to _really_ worry about yet. The threat of Bonnie and Balloon Boy was greater.

Jeremy put on the mask again and slumped back against his chair. He needed to start to pay more attention to the time so that he knew how much longer he had to bear everything for.

_Beep. Beep._

Jeremy's heart stopped. The music box. He hadn't wound it up. But Bonnie and Balloon Boy were _right fucking there_.

He glanced at the flashing alarm sign on the bottom corner of the monitor, the only thing he could make out on the static-y screen.

It was bright red.

No.

No.

_No._

Jeremy felt a cold first clench around his chest, a heavy stone sinking in his stomach. Why was this happening to him? Why? Why couldn't have just one thing happened differently? _Why?_

The flashing stopped. The soft tinkling of notes could be heard directly outside of the door.

Jeremy felt his throat burn and his eyes blur. Out of all the ways to go, the Marionette…

No. No. _No._

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut. He hoped his parents would be all right without him. God, he should have wrote a will —

The music stopped. Jeremy felt all rational thought stop with it.

_Ding dong. Ding dong._

Six. It was six.

Jeremy couldn't bring himself to cheer for another night. The wall of relief hit his exhausted and taut body hard enough to short circuit him and he collapsed against the desk, unconscious.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

"Hey, ya alrigh' there bud?"

Something crept at the edge of his mind, the sound slowly drawing him out of the world of darkness that consumed him. He blinked once. Twice. Again.

"Wha?" Jeremy picked himself off of hard wood with trembling arms. Everything came back at once. Bonnie. Balloon Boy. The Marionette.

He wasn't dead.

"I asked if you were okay."

Jeremy blearily pried off the mask and looked up at the man in front of him. He was wearing the standard Freddy's uniform and was maybe in his early thirties, late twenties at the best. Jeremy's sleep hazed mind wondered what the man's wiry beard would feel like.

"Uh, fine," Jeremy rasped out. "Um, sorta."

The man nodded solemnly. "No one's okay after the night shift, kid."

"Mhm — wait," Jeremy's head shot up, now fully awake, "what do you mean? How do you know?"

The man glanced over his shoulder before turning back. "I was the guard before you."

Jeremy froze. Then he all but flung himself at the man.

"Wha the fu — "

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Jeremy screamed. "I would have died without your messages and I don't wanna die because of stupid animatronics and — "

"Uh, no," the man used Jeremy's temporary confusion to shove the teen away. "I didn't leave no messages for anyone."

"But," Jeremy's brows furrowed, "a night guard left messages for me to help me out — "

"That ain't me. You're talkin' about Mike."

"Mike?"

The man nodded. "He was the guard before me and told me to listen to his messages if I wanted to live. Then he said to reset 'em every time a new guard came."

Jeremy blinked. "Mike?"

"Yup, Mike Schmidt."

"Huh." Jeremy turned his gaze down to his feet. So Phone Guy's name was Mike. And Phone Guy was an actual person. Yes, Jeremy had acknowledged as much beforehand, but to actually hear from someone that they knew the guy who had been the reason for him not dying… Jeremy wanted to meet him. Badly.

"Yeah, look," the man shuffled, "I know what the night shift is like. You need some rest kid."

"Yeah, I know," Jeremy agreed. "Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where I could fine this Mike, would you?"

"No," was the gruff response. "You can try your luck with management but don't expect to come up with much."

"Okay, thanks," Jeremy smiled. A pause. Then, "Jeremy."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Jeremy, Jeremy Fitzgerald." Jeremy grinned and extended a hand out.

The man smiled. "Kyle Jones." Kyle grasped Jeremy's hand in his own and gave a hearty shake. "Now get out, I need to be cleaning."

"Have a good day!" Jeremy called over his shoulder as he ran out. A muffled "don't bet on it!" followed him out.

Jeremy streaked through the halls, ignoring the indignant looks on a few of the early workers as he nearly bowled them over (it was their fault for being in the way!). He managed to find the management office with only minimal difficulty (read: he only got lost once) and marched in.

"What do you want?" And old man snapped, hunched over his desk and brown eyes alight with annoyance, bordering anger. Jeremy couldn't bother to remember his name.

"I want a favor," Jeremy stated simply.

The manager glared through narrowed eyes. "No."

Jeremy squared his shoulders back. "I'm getting a favor or else I might just let what my time on the night watch was like slip."

"Right," the man sneered. "I'll sue you. You signed the agreement when you started, remember? No talking about what happens on the job."

Jeremy smiled. "I did. But my mom is a lawyer and my family has more than enough funds to take this to court and win. You on the other hand…"

The sneer fell. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I want the address of one of your employees," Jeremy said easily. "Mike Schmidt."

Yeah sure, it sounded stalker-ish but it wasn't like Jeremy was going to do anything bad.

The manager appeared baffled, clearly not understanding why Jeremy would want to know where Mike lived. "That's it?"

"That's it."

The man rolled his eyes. He ducked under his desk, grumbling out profanities as he rummaged around the drawers, pulling out the odd slip of paper. Finally, he resurfaced with a white sheet in hand and gave it to Jeremy.

"Knock yourself out kid," he hissed. "Now get out."

Jeremy only grinned back and bolted out of the room. He didn't want to stick around the restaurant any longer than necessary, even if it was during the day.

Once he was outside, Jeremy checked the time. Nine in the morning already? How long was he out for? Well, at least he'd caught up on some sleep.

With determination running through him and confidence in his gait, Jeremy marched off to find Mike Schmidt.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Jeremy was in a bad part of town.

Well, not bad as in some guy will try to assault you at every corner but more the bad where the people who were barely making ends meet lived. There was litter on the streets and people mulling around outside in clothes that could definitely use a wash. Or two. Or five.

Jeremy stared at the apartment complex in front of him. It was relatively small, only reaching around six stories high, with musty windows and a squeaky front door. It wasn't exactly very safe either since he literally just strolled right through the entrance and up the stairs.

He travelled through the hallway, cheap wallpaper chipped off at places and a nasty draft that seemed to be everywhere. Jeremy didn't like it.

When he finally reached the door number that matched the one on the address Jeremy stopped. He hesitated; after all, he was about to meet the guy who had gone before him and survived and given him the knowledge that he in turn needed to survive. It was like meeting a hero.

So with complete and utter reverence, Jeremy knocked on the door.

After maybe ten seconds, it opened to reveal a scrawny man with shaggy brown hair that stood a bit less than half a foot shorter than Jeremy and couldn't have been much older. He stared up with a look that bade for no tomfoolery.

It was then Jeremy realized that he had knocked on the wrong door. There was no way that this stick of a guy was the Mike Schmidt that lived to tell the tale of Freddy's.

"Sorry," Jeremy threw on his best charismatic smile, "wrong apartment."

The boy (Jeremy couldn't call him a man) raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Jeremy decided that now would be a good time to walk away.

Not looking back, Jeremy continued down the hall. He must have gotten the number wrong or misread it or something. He glanced back up. The numbers were too high up; he had gone past the room.

Turning around, Jeremy backtracked through the hall. Checking three times just to be sure, Jeremy knocked.

The same guy opened the door.

"Alright, what do you want?" the boy asked testily.

Jeremy cut off his apology when he heard the tone and sound of his voice. It was… familiar. The only thing missing was the tinge of static.

"Um," Jeremy started, "you wouldn't happen to be Mike Schmidt, would you?"

The brunet's posture instantly became guarded. "Yeah… who's asking?"

"I'm Jeremy Fitzgerald," Jeremy brought a hand to the back of his neck. "I'm the current night guard for Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria."

Mike stared openly before nudging the door further open. "Then you might want to come in. What I think you want to talk about isn't something that you'll want most people hearing."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Cliffhanger-ish. I was originally going to leave it off right before Jeremy's shift ended but I'm not that terrible.  
><strong>

**I don't know what happens if Mangle does get into the room or if you can survive it but for the sake of this story Jeremy can.**

**Jeremy has a girlfriend! She'll come up later on. Funny story about her name. I named her Kayla. The friend I talked about last chapter (after I had named Kayla but before I told my friend the name) said I should name Jeremy's girlfriend either Kelly or Shania. Kayla is almost like a mashup of them. I thought it was amusing.  
><strong>

**Feel free to ask me any questions you may have. I feel like I wasn't very clear on a lot of this.**

**Please review, follow, and favorite. Your support is always cherished.**


	3. The Talk

**A/N: And here's chapter three.**

**Yes, a bit of a delay, but I'll be damned if I haven't been busy as hell. I actually have a killer headache right now so please excuse my writing if it seems lacking.**

**And even if I haven't touched this in so long you all have been amazing. Thank you for following, favoriting, and reviewing.**

**Again, I will most likely come back to edit this after deciding I hate it. SO if something changes, don't be alarmed.**

**Disclaimer: Haibanashi does not own Five Night's at Freddy's or any of its characters (that would be Scott Cawthon). Haibanashi makes no profit off of this story.**

**Warnings: There is quite a bit of swearing/cursing. Also some gore but not so much in this chapter.**

**Read on.**

* * *

><p>Jeremy liked to think that he was pretty nice person and had some manners on him; he always tried to include the kids at school who didn't really have anyone to hang around and opened doors for ladies and the elderly. Point was, Jeremy counted himself as a decent human being.<p>

That being said, there was nothing Jeremy could be nice about concerning Mike's apartment.

First of all, the place was small. Like, really small. Like, it was a studio apartment. Jeremy had been in hotel rooms that were more spacious than this… Jeremy hesitated to even call it a room.

A cheap kitchen counter hugged the wall on the far right corner, a nearly archaic gas stove built in and a refrigerator that barely looked half of Jeremy's height was placed next to the end furthest from him, facing the door. To the left was what Jeremy presumed would equate to a living room. A faded burgundy sofa that could fit maybe two people sat against the wall, a beat-up coffee table was placed in front of it that had a… decent television on (it wasn't ancient, but it was by no means a plasma widescreen). There was also a chair that had definitely seen better days. The back left corner was boxed off in what Jeremy guessed would be the master — no, the only bedroom. He also noticed a door that seemed to be indented into the far wall. That'd probably be the bathroom.

How could someone live in such a tiny dwelling?

"Um," Jeremy's eyes darted to look over at Mike, "nice — "

"Don't," Mike effectively cut Jeremy off, the blonde's mouth snapping shut. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially if there's absolutely no basis for it."

Jeremy just stared. "I wasn't — "

"Yes you were," Mike rolled his eyes. "And don't try to deny it."

Well then.

"So," Mike took all but two strides before he sat down in the chair, "what is it that you want, exactly?"

Jeremy gulped. He was still pretty skeptic as to whether this guy was actually the same one who left the messages. Time for the moment of truth.

"On the second message," Jeremy started, his gaze locking onto Mike's, "you gave advice about the 'quirky' animatronic and what to do about it."

Mike's brows furrowed but Jeremy didn't miss the spark that flashed through his eyes, unreadable as it was. "You're not so empty-headed, are you?"

Jeremy felt the corners of his mouth pull down. He gave no response.

A miniscule smile slipped onto Mike's face, practically nonexistent. He continued, "Then again, you've gotten through a few nights so you must have something up there. Fine, I'll humor you; I told you to give Foxy a rave party with the flashlight to get him to go away."

And just like that, Jeremy felt all of the tension flood out of him and made his way to the couch. "Sorry," he said. "I just needed to make sure, you know?"

Mike's shrugged. "I can appreciate some paranoia after working a night or two; it keeps you alive."

Jeremy grinned. His fingers twitched. Then he threw himself at Mike.

"What the fu — "

"God, you're amazing!" Jeremy yelled (very manly like. Totally not squealing).

"Get off!" Mike's voice was muffled by Jeremy's chest, seeing as he was the shorter of the two.

"I would be dead right now if you hadn't left those recordings," Jeremy rambled, not even hearing the brunet. "I wouldn't have even known that the damned things moved or to wind up the music box — I hate the Marionette, fucker — or how to stop Foxy and I really don't wanna die yet especially by creepy as hell robots — "

"Shut up, will you?" Mike pulled back, whacking Jeremy across the chest and scowling up at him. "You're welcome for the help but I don't need to be suffocated."

Jeremy nodded. "Yeah, totally. Just forgot."

"… that humans need to _breathe_?"

"No."

Mike sighed and muttered under his breath, "Of course."

Jeremy stood still and watched as Mike sat back down in his chair (wow had he really pulled him out of it?), crossing one leg over the other's knee and holding his head up with the heel of his hand.

"Anyway," Mike continued, "was that it?"

Jeremy's smile fell a few watts in power. "What do you mean is that it?"

Mike gave the teen a deadpan look. "You said what you wanted to. And I do appreciate the fact that you tracked me down just to hug me and express your gratitude, truly, but usually you would leave right about now."

"What?" Jeremy was incredulous. "First of all, you'd show me to the door — "

" — I'm seriously doubting you were a night guard if you can't find it yourself — "

" — and there's gotta be more than that!" Jeremy finished, ignoring Mike's interjection. "C'mon, we both went through the same near death experience as each other! Don't you wanna talk about it at all?"

Mike raised one eyebrow (a skill that Jeremy envied). "What do you want to do, start a club?"

"Yes!" Pause. "Well, no. I just want to swap stories, you know? Maybe I encountered something that you didn't or the other way around."

Mike gave a small, brief smile. "I somehow doubt that the first one."

"And even if we didn't, wouldn't this just be nice to get off your chest and talk to someone that actually understands?" Jeremy attempted to persuade Mike.

Mike's eyes narrowed. Finally, he heaved a large sigh and slumped back into his chair. "You know what, fine. I can't say I'm not curious as to how you might have handled them."

Jeremy's grin returned and he sauntered over to the couch, the springs giving cries of protest as he plopped down his entire weight onto the piece of furniture. Mike seemed different than Jeremy had imagined him but somehow the person he saw didn't surprise him as much as he should've. Mike's physique was definitely a bit of a throw off, but the quick thinking, witty comments, sarcastic bite, and general brusque manner was a direct match to the personality Jeremy had fitted Phone Guy (or, Mike now) with.

"Well?" Jeremy startled out of his thoughts as Mike spoke. "Are you just going to sit there?"

"Can I ask questions?" Jeremy felt the words flood out before he had time to filter them.

"I would say that you just did to be a smartass but it annoys me when people do that." Mike said. "Go for it."

"Why does the Marionette need to listen to the music box?"

"I honestly have no idea. I just know it works and I suggest sticking to it until it doesn't."

"You never really said why, so how come the animatronics want to kill me? Or whoever is working there, I guess."

"Ugh, I was told that they think that you're an endo or something — "

"Endo?"

"The metal endoskeletons that are inside the animatronics. They think that you're an endo or whatever and since that's apparently 'against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's' they try to forcefully stuff you into a Freddy suit."

"That doesn't sound bad."

"It wouldn't be, either, if the costumes weren't stuffed with servo motors and crossbeams and other sharp, metal objects."

"… oh."

And so it continued in a similar fashion, with Jeremy asking Mike every question imaginable. Most of them were received with pointblank answers ("Can't you just fight them off?" "If you want to fight off metal beings that can't feel pain or don't have a sense of self-preservation, then I wish you luck.") although some were met with indefinite responses ("Why haven't any of them been, I don't know, scrapped?" "That would be nice if it happened, wouldn't it?").

And finally, Jeremy asked the million dollar question.

"Who was the Phone Guy before you?"

Mike's head cocked to the side. "What?"

"Uh, Phone Guy," Jeremy elaborated, "the guy who left you messages?"

"Oh." Mike shrugged. "No idea."

"Really?"

"I'm pretty sure that he died on his fourth night, based on the end of the call."

Jeremy froze. He knew that death would be the result of failure, but to actually hear that someone in his exact position had…

It was an eye opener.

"Besides," Mike continued, ignoring Jeremy's reaction, "his calls would have been out of date."

"Out of date?" Jeremy parroted.

"He worked at the old pizzeria," Mike explained. "The newer models hadn't even been built yet and there was no mask. Going off of his advice wouldn't have worked."

"But…" Jeremy could _feel _the gears clicking and whirring in his mind, "hasn't this Freddy's been open for two months now?"

"Yes."

"Then how could have he worked at the old one?" Jeremy asked. "I mean, it's only five nights. How could—?"

"You're assuming that each new guard only works five nightshifts," Mike interrupted. "And that's a fair assumption. But it isn't right."

Jeremy paused. It took him a bit, but he understood the significance of Mike's words. "You worked more than one week."

"Yes."

"Then… how long had you been working there?"

Mike shrugged again. "Eight or so years, give or take a few months."

"What."

"I said around eight—"

"No, I heard you." Jeremy's eyes were widened to the size of saucers. "Why the hell—what would—I can't—what?"

Mike regarded him oddly. Jeremy tried his best to recollect his thoughts.

"What," he began, "would drive you to work at Freddy's for eight _years_?"

"Paranoia, mostly," Mike sighed. "I would get nervous as hell when I didn't know where they were, even during the day. And it wasn't just a small discomfort; I could barely function. And it wasn't like I had many options when it came to employment. Freddy's was the best I could get."

"Getting stuffed in a suit and killed was the best?" Jeremy was incredulous.

Mike's eyes hardened. "Compared to dying slowly on the streets, yes. I was fucked either way so I just took the one that actually had benefits and would provided me with the quickest death."

Jeremy felt chills along his spine. Holy shit, Mike was intense.

A tense silence fell upon them.

That is, until Jeremy jumped ten feet into the air when his phone went off. Mike looked utterly unimpressed. Jeremy scrambled to answer.

"Hello?"

"_Jeremy, it's me."_

"Hey dad. Uh, what's up?"

"_Where are you?"_

Jeremy glanced at Mike. "I'm still at work. I just had to talk to the manager for a bit. I'll start coming home right now."

Jeremy cringed at the lack of response that followed. If his dad didn't buy his excuse…

"_Alright."_

Jeremy had to stop himself from fist pumping and screeching in victory.

"_I would like to know next time, got it? I'm going off to work and I'm calling the house in an hour. You best be there to pick it up."_

"I will," Jeremy assured. "I'll see you later tonight."

"_Goodbye Jeremy."_

The line went dead.

"You're terrible at lying," Mike commented idly.

"Don't care," Jeremy said.

"I'm assuming that you have to leave now." It was a statement, not a question. "You know where the door is."

Jeremy walked all of three strides and reached for the rusty handle. He hesitated only when he was halfway out.

"I'll swing by tomorrow," he said over his shoulder.

The door slammed closed before Mike could get a word in.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Mike wasn't sulking.

Yes, he was pissed off and yes, he was seething, but he wasn't sulking. Brooding, yes. Sulking, no.

Who did that Jeremy kid think he was? He had gotten through four nights at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, sure, but didn't he have manners? You couldn't just invite yourself over to someone's place of living. At least he had given some form of warning. That still didn't justify anything, though.

Mike scrubbed the counters as angrily as he could. The restaurant owners would be happy with his cleaning, that was for sure. Hell, they'd probably find ways to upset him if it meant any sort of gain for them.

Several hours and countless streams of colorful swears later, Mike locked up the door to the small hole in the wall Chinese restaurant. Despite its ragged appearance, the pay was rather decent. Not enough to support him, that was what the other two jobs were for, but most certainly better than what Freddy's had given him.

Speaking of.

Mike's foul mood made a swift return only to be extinguished moments later. Jeremy may have been a bit of an asshole, but Mike couldn't wish ill will on him. He was only a kid. One that was about an hour into his fifth night of hell.

Mike wasn't religious by any means but he still murmured a few words of prayer for the blonde.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Jeremy was, in fact, in hell. Multiplied by nine thousand.

The scrapped Bonnie couldn't have been as fast as it was. It was fucking _impossible_. And Balloon Boy needed to take a break and leave him the hell alone. And Foxy had to stop coming back every five seconds. And the current models needed to get out of the fucking vents. And the music box needed to stay wound.

Needless to say, Jeremy was flailing over everything that was happening.

His eyes darted to the clock. Four-thirty.

Oh, this was not good.

Jeremy checked the vents and the hall. Only Foxy was visible but he was still at the end. Jeremy brought the camera up and wound the music box up and was it just him or was it draining faster than usual and oh fuck what was that noise—

Jeremy yanked the camera down and stuck the Freddy head on. There wasn't anything in the room but that didn't mean that there wasn't anything in the vents.

Sure enough, the current version of Chica slid across his vision as the lights flickered. Jeremy wasn't sure whether he was holding in a scream of terror or sigh of relief.

Probably both.

The lights cut off then dimmed back on. Jeremy checked the hall—

Holy shit Foxy was close.

Jeremy spazzed out on the flashlight with his rights hand and checked the left vent with the other.

Old Bonnie.

That just wasn't _fair_.

Jeremy looked at the hall again. Foxy was gone. The thought had barely processed and he was already swinging the mask back on.

Not even three seconds later did Jeremy hear the alarm for the music box go off. He swung the mask off and cranked up the only thing stopping the Marionette, not even glancing at the vent. The older versions, sans Foxy, had never attacked him while he was in the camera. He only hoped this would hold true now as well.

Jeremy finished winding the music box at the exact moment he heard childish giggling and radio static seep into the room.

He didn't even think as he slammed down the monitor and shoved the mask on. Balloon Boy and Mangle were not things that he needed to deal with. They had some sort of auditory cue. But. Still.

As soon as the static faded Jeremy plucked the mask off and checked the hall. Foxy was there again along with the original Freddy. Okay, he could deal with that. They were at the end of the hall. He had some time.

Jeremy flipped the cameras back up and continued to wind the music box. This was good, everything was going to be alright.

Laughter flooded the room. Jeremy lowered the monitor.

Balloon Boy was in the room, laughing and pointing at him.

Jeremy's initial reaction was horror, but he forced himself to calm down. Balloon Boy wasn't trying to kill him.

Huh.

Still keeping a wary eye on the animatronic, Jeremy reached for the flashlight to check the hall.

It wasn't there.

Jeremy stared at the desk. The flashlight should have been _right there_. It always was, so why…?

He looked back up.

It was resting at Balloon Boy's feet.

No.

_No._

Clangs of metal in the vents and static accompanied the maniacal laughter.

Jeremy had no choice but to put the mask back on.

He couldn't die here. He wouldn't die here.

But he was going to.

He could hear heavy steps join the symphony of insanity. Jeremy could hardly hear by the time they stopped, his rapid heartbeat and roaring blood drowning put all other noise.

He closed his eyes.

Darkness.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Mike sat cross-legged on his chair, flipping through his bills. His job hours took up almost all of his time after ten in the morning, forcing him to become a morning person if he wanted any amount of free time. Seeing as he was quite the night owl, this had proved a challenge. But it had worked.

He glanced up from the papers at the harsh rap on his door. That was odd. The landlord only came to rant on Monday mornings. The bastard probably was still sleeping right about now.

Giving a world-weary sigh, Mike set down his mail and approached the door. He swung it open.

"Hey," Jeremy greeted with a tired smile, "mind if I come in?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I was seriously contemplating not putting that last part in. But I can't deal with cliffhangers so I'm giving you _some_ closure.  
><strong>

**I felt like the talk didn't flow quite right. I'm not sure whether or not to actually go more in depth; let me know what you think. Because there will be more. I promise.**

**I feel like my Jeremy nightshift scenes are a bit redundant. But I can't think of another way to do it. And now I'm getting to the actual meat of the story. Yay!**

**Please review, follow, and favorite. Your support is always cherished.**


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